


Don't Call Me Angel

by arysa13



Series: prompts filled (bellarke) [38]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Fucking, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Handcuffs, Possessive Behavior, Punishment, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-31 07:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Bellamy punishes Clarke for her slutty Halloween costume.





	Don't Call Me Angel

**Author's Note:**

> two anons prompted punishment kink

Bellamy couldn’t make it to the party tonight. Clarke had been disappointed at first, when he told her he would have to work, because she had been desperate to do a couples costume this year, for the first time in her life. Plus, parties are just not as fun when he’s not there.

The upside of not having Bellamy at the party is it means she can dress as slutty as she wants. He hates it when she shows off her body to other people. He’ll begrudgingly let her wear a bikini to the beach, as long as he’s with her, and it’s obvious to everyone that they’re together. But even then, she notices him glowering at anyone who dares to glance in her direction. Her body belongs to _him_, and she likes it that way. She finds the possessiveness and jealousy hot. Loves the way he fucks her hard to remind her she’s his.

Still, she also likes to show off a little bit. And she also likes to see what she can get away with.

She waits until he’s gone before she gets dressed—or, rather, _undressed_. Bellamy knows her Halloween costume is an angel. He’s seen the wings and halo she’s got sitting on the bed. What he doesn’t know, is that the rest of the costume is just a white negligee, the cups holding in her breasts the only part of it that isn’t sheer. Underneath, just a pair of white lacy panties.

Bellamy would die if he saw her in this. And if he caught her going out in it, there’s no telling what he might do. Clarke half hopes to find out.

She puts on the wings and the halo and studies her reflection in the mirror. She’s dressed as an angel, but she doesn’t look anything like one. She wishes Bellamy didn’t have to work. She wants him to come home right now, pull off her panties, then fuck her from behind.

Alas, the next person to show up at her door is not Bellamy, but Josephine, come to pick her up for the party. Josie is dressed as the devil, in a crop top that almost shows her nipples, and a pair of tight red shorts. The only way to actually tell she’s the devil are the flashing plastic horns on her head, and the plastic pitchfork in her hand.

“Damn,” Josie says, looking Clarke up and down. “Does Bellamy know you’re going out like that?”

“Nope, and you aren’t going to tell him.”

“Maybe you and I should go home together tonight,” Josie grins. “I’m sure Gabriel won’t mind. I think he has a thing for Bellamy anyway, maybe we can do a swapsies.”

“No offence, Jose, but you really aren’t my type.”

“Rude.”

“Get over it.”

Josie rolls her eyes. “Come on, Gabriel’s waiting in the car.”

Gabriel, dressed as a priest, barely spares a second glance at Clarke’s outfit as she gets into the car. Evidently, boobs are not his thing. Plus, he’s probably just thinking about how the devil is going to coax him to break his vows later, in whatever kinky roleplay he and Josie have planned. It does no harm to Clarke’s ego either way, since she knows she’ll have plenty of attention on her once they get to the party.

She’s not wrong. There’s not a single straight man in the room whose eyes don’t drop to her cleavage as she walks by, host of the party, Roan, included. His eyes trail further down, then flit across to Josie. He makes eye contact with Gabriel and smirks.

“Don’t you three look cute?” he says. He’s dressed as Tarzan. Anything to get shirtless. “Did you and Bellamy break up?” he asks Clarke. He knows as well as anyone how possessive Bellamy is of his girl, having looked at Clarke the wrong way once, and ended up with a broken nose, courtesy of Bellamy.

Clarke shakes her head. “He had to work.”

“That’s a shame,” Roan smiles lecherously. “For him.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You talk a big game, but I know you’re too terrified of him to ever touch me.”

Roan shrugs. “I might risk it if I thought you’d be into it. Too bad you’re too in love with him to see how good I could make you feel.”

“Okay, can you two stop flirting and tell me where the alcohol is?” Josie interrupts.

“Pool room,” Roan grunts, pointing to the left.

Josie grabs Gabriel’s hand, and Clarke follows them towards the pool room, looking back to see Roan watching her ass as she walks away.

“Enjoy the view!” she calls back. That’s all he’s ever going to get.

Clarke enjoys herself at the party. She gets hit on more than a few times, and ogled by anyone with eyes. She gets a little tipsy, grinds herself against Josie on the dancefloor, and takes way too many bad selfies. But’s only a couple of hours before she starts to miss Bellamy, wishing he were here to sneak off to one of Roan’s many bedrooms with her.

Then, as she’s dancing by herself, she feels a large body press up against her back, flattening her wings, and a strong forearm slide around her waist, gripping her tightly. She knows instantly it’s him, and she wonders for a moment if she somehow conjured him up with her mind.

She grinds back against him, smiling, hoping he’ll dance with her.

“I thought you had to work,” she says, and then, when he doesn’t give in to her attempts to get him to dance, she spins around.

“Got off early,” Bellamy says. He’s even got a costume on. A sexy cop outfit. Clarke recognises the handcuffs dangling from his belt as one of the many toys from their collection at home.

He eyes her up and down, and Clarke flushes under his appraisal. His jaw ticks as he meets her eye, and she knows she’s in trouble. Her cunt throbs.

“Lucky I did,” he growls. “Seems I can’t leave you alone for a few hours without you showing yourself off to anyone who’ll look at you.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says, blinking up at him innocently.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. He knows she’s far from innocent. “You will be,” he promises. He grabs her wrist then, his huge fingers gripping her tightly. He turns her around forcefully, and a moment later, Clarke feels him replace his hand with a cuff. He grabs her other wrist and the circles the other cuff around it, clicking it into place so her hands are restrained behind her back. Clarke can feel her pulse start to race.

People around them have started to notice now, and Clarke feels her face turn crimson as Bellamy grabs her arm and drags her from the room. He ignores the onlookers, keeping his grip firm on her bicep and pushing her outside and towards his car. He opens the back door and bundles her inside roughly, then rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. He glances over his shoulder at her.

“What’s going to happen to me, Officer?” Clarke asks sweetly. He doesn’t answer, just turns back to face the front and turns the key in the ignition. Okay, so it’s not that kind of game.

He’s silent on the drive back to their house, and Clarke hates it. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t tell her what a naughty girl she’s been. Her mind whirls with the possibilities that await when they get home, her cunt throbbing, and she leaks into her panties, soaking them right through.

He pulls the car into the driveway, then pulls her out of the backseat, still treating her a little roughly. Clarke doesn’t dare speak until he does, but she’s bursting to know what he’s thinking. How mad is he? What’s he going to do to her?

He takes her to their bedroom, still silent, then lets her go. She turns to him, biting her lip, pleading with him with her eyes to forgive her.

“Don’t give me that look,” he growls. “You know exactly what you’ve done, and you’re going to be punished for it.”

“Please, sir,” Clarke begs him. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean to dress up like a slut and parade yourself around for the entertainment of others? Or you didn’t mean to get caught?”

Clarke’s lower lips trembles. He gives her a triumphant look. He knows she can’t pretend like she didn’t know he wouldn’t approve of her outfit. He steps towards her.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Your body belongs to me. Nobody else gets to look at you.” He pulls the cups of her negligee down easily, revealing her nipples, hard and straining for him. He takes a nipple between his right finger and thumb, rolling it gently, then twisting, harder and harder, until Clarke whimpers.

“Your tits could have easily slipped out of this poor excuse for clothing. I don’t want other men eyeing off my property, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He edges her backwards until her thighs hit the foot of the bed, then he spins her around and pushes her down, hand on the back of her neck. Their bed is high off the ground for exactly this purpose—him bending her over the end of it. He yanks her panties down and pushes her flimsy negligee up, exposing her ass and pussy. He kicks her legs open. She looks even less like an angel how. Her pussy clenches in anticipation. He’s going to fuck her, she’s sure of it.

His finger trails along her slit, gathering her arousal on his fingertip.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re all wet,” Bellamy says. “You think you’re going to get fucked, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, baby,” he says. “I told you, you’re getting punished.” She hears him walking away, and she turns her head over her shoulder, watching him head to the closet, reach into their box of toys, then walk back with a flogger. A fresh surge leaks out of Clarke’s pussy.

He trails the end of the flogger over her ass, tickling her. “Now,” Bellamy says. “What’s it going to take to get you to stop dressing like a slut?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Ten lashings? Fifteen? Twenty? More?”

Clarke shivers. “Surely no more than ten, sir.”

“Fifteen it is. Be a good girl and don’t complain too much, or I’ll make it twenty.”

“Yes, sir.”

The first lash takes her by surprise, and she gasps as it comes down across her ass. He strokes the inflamed area with the flogger, before landing another strike in the same spot. She doesn’t make another sound until the sixth stroke, when she lets out a tiny whimper. Her ass stings like hell, and he’s not even halfway done. Her arousal drips down her thighs.

“You’re not complaining, are you?” Bellamy demands.

“No, sir,” Clarke squeaks. “I deserve it, sir.”

“That’s right.” He strikes her again. “Why do you deserve it?”

“I dressed like a slut in public, sir,” Clarke says. The flogger comes down on her ass again, and another whimper escapes her mouth. She’s forgotten what number they’re up to now. “I let other men see my panties.”

“What do you think they were thinking when they looked at you? They probably thought you were offering yourself up. An easy fuck. A little whore, desperate for cock.” Two more whips of the flogger, and tears start to roll down her cheeks.

“Only for you,” Clarke manages to choke out through her tears. She wants the punishment to be over so he’ll fuck her already, give her the orgasm she’s so desperately craving.

“Are you crying, baby?” Bellamy coos. Even when he’s mad at her, punishing her, he can’t resist being sweet to her. “We’re almost done, I promise. Five more to go.”

The last five come in quick succession, and tears stream down her face freely now. Each whip makes her ass erupt in flames, and she knows she won’t be able to sit down properly for days.

He counts the last whip of the flogger, and Clarke instantly relaxes against the bed. She hadn’t even realised she was holding herself so taut. The soft caress of Bellamy’s hand on her ass makes her whimper.

“Look at that nice red bottom,” Bellamy says. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, sir,” Clarke whispers. She feels him grab her wrists, and then he’s unlocking one of the cuffs, then the other. He pulls off her wings, and her halo, then stands her up and turns her around. He brushes the tears from her face with his thumbs, and kisses her cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl from now on?” he asks her. Clarke nods. “Good.” He gives her another kiss, on the lips this time, then drags her negligee down, letting it pool on the floor at her feet. “Now lie down on the bed.”

Clarke obeys eagerly. She took her punishment well, and now he’s going to reward her. She lies down, head on the pillows, legs spread. She ignores the throbbing of her ass and tries to focus on the throbbing of her cunt. Bellamy eyes her as he sets down the flogger and handcuffs. He raises an eyebrow, seemingly amused.

“Did I tell you to spread your legs?”

“No, sir,” Clarke admits, flushing. Is she being too obvious about how much she wants it?

“Why do you think I asked you to lie down?”

“You—you’re going to fuck me, sir? Let me come?”

Bellamy laughs. “No. Have you done anything to deserve it?”

Clarke glances down, ashamed. “No, sir.”

Bellamy unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. “Your cunt isn’t getting touched tonight. I’m going to fuck your face. Close your legs, you silly slut.”

“Yes, sir,” Clarke whimpers meekly, bringing her thighs together. Tears prick in her eyes again at the revelation that she won’t get to come tonight. He’s not even going to _touch _her there, where she so desperately needs to be touched.

Bellamy removes the rest of his clothing and kneels on the bed, his cock big and menacing. He kneels over her, nudging her mouth open with his cock. She opens wide, and he shoves his cock inside. He’s rough with her, uncaring, and Clarke knows this is part of her punishment.

She chokes as his cock hits the back of her throat, and he grabs her hair, pulling it sharply. Clarke moans. He uses her mouth, his thrusts fast and brutal, his balls hitting her chin. Clarke can barely breathe with his huge cock driving into her airway, but all she can think about is how empty her pussy is, how much she wishes he was fucking her cunt instead of her mouth.

It doesn’t take him long to reach his climax, and he doesn’t warn her as he pulls his cock out of her mouth and comes all over her face. She closes her eyes at the last moment, saving her from an eyeful, but it mats in her eyelashes, her hair, drips into her mouth.

She opens her eyes as he gets off her. He says nothing as he leaves the room, and Clarke is left feeling empty, her ass stinging, her face covered in come.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there, waiting for him to come back. He hadn’t said so, but she knows she’s not supposed to move to clean herself up or get dressed. He’ll decide when she’s allowed to do that.

When he finally comes back, he’s dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and he’s obviously showered. He’s got a bottle of lotion and a wet towel with him. She breathes a sigh of relief at his return, and the anxiety that had built in her stomach dissipates. He pads over to the bed and sits down beside her, putting the lotion down on the side table.

“You okay, baby?” he asks her, helping her sit up.

Clarke nods. Bellamy takes the towel and wipes it across her face, cleaning up his come as best he can.

“We’ll get the rest in the shower later, okay?” he promises.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees. Bellamy reaches for her and pull her into his lap, rubbing his hand across her ass. Clarke winces. “It hurts,” she whispers.

“I know, baby,” Bellamy says. He reaches for the lotion and squirts some into his hand, then rubs it into her ass gently. Clarke tucks her head into Bellamy’s shoulder as he caresses her ass. He slips his fingers between her legs then, and finds her clit. He’d said she wouldn’t touch her there tonight, but it seems he can’t resist.

“You took your punishment so well,” he coos, fingering her clit. “Such a good girl. Most of the time.” Clarke smiles against his shoulder.

His fingers are slow and gentle with her, building her towards orgasm until she’s squirming in his lap, trying to hold off, in case he’s just playing with her, in case it’s a test.

“Can I come, sir?” Clarke asks.

“Yes, baby, you can come.”

She lets herself go, and her orgasm rolls through her, and she tremors in his arms, panting softly.

“Thank you, sir,” Clarke whispers.

“You want to shower now?” he asks.

Clarke shakes her head. “Just hold me for a while.”


End file.
